


Blanketed Memories

by FendersWolfMage



Series: The Dance [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bullying, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FendersWolfMage/pseuds/FendersWolfMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke struggles through the loss of Anders. Nightmares plaguing him and driving him down a rickety path. Fenris does his best to pick up the pieces, but when two children fall into their hands, everything is set for disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Here

The wind blew through the trees of Sundermount, Anders' laughter travelling as Hawke told a joke. The two sat closely together under a large tree, shading them from the heat of the sun casting down. Anders leaned closer to Hawke, snuggling up against him. “I love you” Anders murmured against his neck. 

“I love you, too” Hawke said, moving to kiss Anders lightly. The kiss was filled with love, a fist clenching tightly in Hawke's chest. It felt wrong and yet, he couldn't help but give into the flow of things. Anders was here, as was he. What more could he need in that moment? 

When Anders moved to sit in Hawke's lap, everything around them began to change. Everything grew dark and the wind howled. It whirled around them, tussling Anders hair. Lightening lit up the sky, as thunder roared. Anders' face morphed into something of pain. “You betrayed me, Hawke. You killed the only one who loved you. How could you? You knew the Chantry needed to go. Nothing could possibly have changed” Anders spoke tremulously. 

His chest clenched tighter, for a completely different reason. The guilt and pain welled up within him. It screamed louder, begged for a forgiveness he didn't deserve. “Anders, I'm so sorry… I wanted...” Hawke's voice came out strangled. He couldn't continue because regardless of what he'd wanted, he'd had a duty to Kirkwall and he had in fact betrayed Anders. 

Anders raised up a dagger, seemingly out of thin air. The scene was so morbid, but Hawke couldn't get away. “You never truly cared” Anders said, bringing the dagger to his own chest. “No, Anders!” Hawke cried out, begging and pleading. Hawke could only watch, as the dagger drew closer to Anders' chest. His body wouldn't respond, wouldn't move. Even as he screamed for it to, it ignored him. Blood trickled slowly from the wound, some coming out of his mouth. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Hawke jolted awake, gripping his hair as he pulled his legs up. This was becoming an every night thing. He was losing sleep and there was nothing he could do. Grief and guilt never left him. Even after four months on the run, he still hadn't been able to pull himself together. It was always a dead end. He could run from where it happened, but the memories never left. His mind always further warping them into something more, something worse. It was scarier each time, leaving him shaking in a cold sweat. 

Looking out the window, it was still dark, as Hawke pushed himself up out of the bed. He left quietly, leaving the room he shared with Fenris. Everyone believed he was in need of being watched all the time, least he fall off the deep end. Which meant he was the only one who actually suffered with having a room mate. Not that Hawke disliked Fenris' company.

Surprisingly enough, Fenris had become a constant source of support, since things had fallen apart. He picked Hawke up when he fell, set him back on his feet. It was welcomed, even if the man wasn't the greatest at being comforting. 

A month ago, they'd found a small burned down village, some ways from Kirkwall. It had been enough to provide them with shelter and give the necessities they needed. With some work, it was beginning to fix up rather nicely and Hawke could only hope they wouldn't be forced to leave soon. 

Finding his way to the kitchen, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. This was the only way he'd managed to cope, the only way he would be falling back asleep for the night. Unscrewing the top, he sipped straight from the bottle, relishing in the way it burned his throat, warming him as it went. 

Lost in his own mind, he hadn't heard the bedroom door open, nor the padding of feet upon the floor. As a hand came down upon his shoulder, Hawke startled, almost dropping the bottle. Looking up, he met a worried gaze from Fenris. The elf slowly pried the bottle form Hawke's hand. “I apologize for scaring you” Fenris said, carefully, his voice still filled with sleep. Hawke wanted to glare, get angry and snatch the bottle back, but Fenris didn't deserve his anger. Only Hawke deserved his own anger. It was his fault, all his fault. 

Fenris pulled out a chair, tipping the bottle back to his own lips. Setting it down, a serious look crossed emerald greens. “Ga- Hawke” he started, before pausing. He seemed to contemplate his next words carefully. “This will not help you forget. Take it from someone who spent years of doing exactly this. It'll numb it, take it away for a short while. The memory will always stay with you though, the pain of it will eventually less-” Fenris continued, doing his best to comfort. An anger welled up inside of Hawke. Before he could reel it back he snapped.

. “Shut up… Don't compare this to that, don't you dare!” he roared. Even fuming as he was, he regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. Fenris flinched back as though Hawke had slapped him. The elf's gaze darted away, clearly uncomfortable. Hawke had expected him to snap back, yell. It would have certainly made him feel better. “Maker, I'm sorry Fenris” he breathed out softly, cupping his head within his hands. 

Composing himself, he kept calm as Fenris managed to look back at him again. “If I am not over stepping my boundaries..” Fenris began, hesitant in his voice. “Perhaps… for tonight that is… what if I slept with you?” Fenris' voice was distant, as though he was simply wondering aloud. 

Hawke didn't know how to respond. Was Fenris offering sex? No, this was Fenris. There wasn't any way. “Just sleep, Hawke” Fenris corrected, obviously seeing the wheels turning within Hawke's head. 

The man thought it over. Would it be so bad having someone sleeping beside him again? Maybe having someone would ward off the nightmares. Just for tonight. “We can try...” Hawke said, before slowly standing up from his chair. His body swayed a bit, sleep and alcohol causing him to be slightly off balance. Moving to the room, Fenris followed, putting the bottle away in the process. 

Entering back into their room, Fenris didn't stop as he crawled back into the bed. Hawke however, was hesitant to join him. What if Fenris was uncomfortable with this? Hawke himself hadn't anyone in his bed since… No, this was to forget for tonight, without drowning himself in alcohol.

“Hawke” Fenris commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Slowly, Hawke made his way over, curling up behind the smaller man. Fenris turned over,, curling into Hawke's body. Wrapping arms around Fenris, Hawke found it was oddly comforting. Breathing in the smell of another, lyrium laced and everything Fenris. “I'm here for you, you know?” Fenris murmured softly. 

“I know” was Hawke's soft reply. 

He laid awake until Fenris' breathing evened out, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Once he was positive the other was asleep, Hawke allowed his eyes to close. It wasn't long before he found himself lulled to sleep by the breathing beside him.


	2. Just a Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boy with a number, even though he has a name.

The field stretched out far before him, the sun shining down brightly to cascade across pale freckled cheeks. Blond hair fell into honeyed eyes ,as the boy ran. A tiny orange kitten followed closely at his heels. Giggles and sounds of glee left him, as he held his arms out like he could fly. 

“Don't run off to far, darling” a woman yelled after the boy. Blond hair, much like his own hung loosely upon her shoulders, her complexion much like that of his own. A man sat beside her, upon a set out blanket. The boy frolicked happily, feeling as thought nothing could bring him down. It was as though a weight was off his shoulders, one he didn't remember existed. 

A barn came into view, to which the boy entered, cat at his heels. “Oi, farm boy” the voice called out. The blond turned back to the entrance where three other boys stood. They were larger then the boy himself, as he hadn't quite reached puberty yet. He stepped back, making an attempt to run away. 

The larger of the three, lunged forward, grabbing hold of his collar. “You gonna talk, farm boy?” the larger boy taunted. The blond shook his head, raising his hands in surrender. 

With the other two boys moving in, he lost any chance of escape. “Worthless” one mocked. “Dirty farm boy” another prodded. His heart thundered in his chest, the sound roaring in his ears. So often, they'd cornered him in places. The barn, the village. He feared he'd never be truly away from them. 

Before he could say anything in his defence, his body hit the floor. A pain jarred through him at the impact, drawing a sharp hiss through parted lips. Trying to scrabbled up and away, a foot connected with his stomach. He thought it would never end. One of the boy's caught sight of the kitten, a sadistic smirk crossing his face. “That your pet, farm boy? Maybe he should share your fate”. 

One of the other boy's moved towards the cat, hands reaching out to yank it up by the scruff. “NO!” the blonde screamed, as the cat was carried towards a bucket. Anger and fear overwhelmed him, a burning hot fury through his veins. It was only then, that he felt the lick of flames across his skin. 

“Mage!” one boy screamed. 

“Apostate” another yelled. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Honeyed eyes shot open wide, a sob leaving his throat. The small boy's hand came up quickly to cover his mouth. It was a dream he'd had before, each one a flash of so much violence. He didn't understand any of it, didn't know what it should mean to him. Though it was clear there was something he didn't know. 

The sound of soft foot falls entered his ears. “Azrel, are you up now?” the soft voice called to him from the door. A small boy with dark locks stared at him, stuffed bunny hanging from her hand. He looked no older then 7, but he'd vehemently insisted he was in fact 10. It didn't truthfully make a difference to him, one way or another. 

“Mistress doesn't like it when we linger in bed” he whispered, his tone softly scolding the blond, before yanking the blankets from him. Azrel wished to pull them back, sleep a while longer. Though if breakfast wasn't made before the mistress awoke, there would be lashings. He didn't particularly fancy them, in fact he did his best to avoid them. 

Good silverware, polished and set. Eggs, over easy, toast lightly browned, cut in a tick slice from the fresh bread. The boy was beginning to get the hang of it, after 4 months of being here. Yet even so, his blonde still chilled, as the dainty mistress walked into the room. She looked harmless, but looks could be deceiving. 

“Twelve, come here. Now” she called out, her voice a shrill that pierced his ears. The blond almost didn't respond, until the cup slammed down upon the table. “You she shrieked, pointing towards him. His eyebrows shot up to his hair line. Numbers, that's what they were to her. When she'd picked him up months ago and he didn't remember his name, she'd called him Azrel. Yet, as time went on, he'd became nothing but a number to her. Sometimes, it was hard to remember. 

“Y-yes, mistress?” he stuttered out, trying to keep his nerves in check. His foot scuffed upon the floor, eyes averting away from the commanding woman in front of him. 

“You will accompany me to the market today” she declared. Azrel froze on the spot, his eyes widening just a fraction, as he met her gaze. It was no secret among them, that she sold children for profit. Almost three times a week, she went out with a new child to earn money. She would come back with another, within a few days, picking up whatever strays she could from the streets. 

Here, they would be trained. They'd be taught to read and write, to cook and clean. Azrel had learned many things here, but he also learned obedience and fear. It was something most looked for in servants and slaves. 'It's easier to train a pup young, then to teach an old dog new tricks' is what the mistress had said. 

With a reluctance, he knew he shouldn't voice, Azrel gaze a slightly bow of his head. 

“Yes, of course, mistress” he replied.


End file.
